quick reviews: maurice carlin @ castlefield gallery
I didn't get to see Maurice Carlin's Launch Pad exhibition First... Next... Then... Finally... at Castlefield Gallery until the last day.
The works were mainly on paper (or of paper), on a large scale, and texturally compelling. The image featured is from the Castlefield Gallery website linked above.
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Although the majority of the works were colourful, the first pieces that you saw, if you turned right and went downstairs to the main gallery space on entering, were monochrome.
A series of pieces, similar to the Corrupted Images above, but in black and white occupied the upper part of one wall. These at a guess were individually around A0 size. so very large sheets of paper. In sequence they initially look very similar, then you begin to pick out differences. But I'll come back to this.
On the wall to the right, symmetrically arranged, a series of the metal binders from lever-arch files, each containing a thick block of paper drooping under its own weight. These in dialogue with the much slighter photocopied magazines composed of pages found on copiers in Salford and Manchester.
The photocopier works which date back a few years have the same interest in reproduction and the artefacts of reproduction as was evident from the other works, but also have a more nostalgic feel. They seem to relate to a world of photocopied flyers and zines that seems to be endangered by the internet, by more affordable home-copying, and by print-on-demand services.
They also speak more to a community of individuals with a common interest - be it music, archaeology, poetry, or anything else. Not just that but a geographically limited community.
For me at least there's an ambivalence in that. The small 'physical' communities of the past were often vital and energetic, but could be cliquey and exclusionary. They could also be oblivious to other communities. Whereas the more atomised 'virtual' communities of the present day may not provide the same sense of belonging, but do enable a faster interchange of ideas, and a greater openness.
That interest in community has often seemed to be a part of Carlin's work. But in general, in this exhibition, the focus was more firmly on the aesthetic. This is neither a bad nor a good thing, it's simply a product of the works shown here.
Into the main space the works leapt into colour. First a video of artist David Medalla walking through Salford at night, casting the square of blue light from a portable projector onto walls, other surfaces, and himself.
This was a fascinating work, the framing of space drawing attention to what might otherwise be overlooked. And at the same time abstracting and anonymising the city.
Then the most photographed work in the exhibition. This was an array of the chromatic images/prints arranged in a grid on the floor, with two films projected. They may have been the same film on a different cycle, I didn't check.
One projector cast its image onto the floor at an angle, creating a peacock fantail of shifting light. The other projecting its image on the opposite wall above the prints. The film (shot by Rosanne Robertson) showed Maurice Carlin creating images/prints for the exhibition, on Manchester's Market Street during daytime to a sometimes bemused casual audience of passers-by.
They were created by squeezing what appeared to be acrylic paint onto one end of the paper, then using the kind of squeegee blade you'd use in screen printing to pull the paint across the paper. Unevennesses in the pavement causing gaps in the paint.
Most of the people I saw only stood and watched the video for a short while, and stayed firmly at the end of the installation behind the projectors. But it was fun to walk up the side of the work and look at the prints that way. Even to get down and look at them from a lower angle, to get some sense of the physicality of the paint, the weight of the objects.
Aesthetically the scale, bulk, and weight of the works struck me as an important part of their nature, and that by viewing them as weightless vehicles for an image misses the point somewhat. But then you could probably say that about any painting.
It may also explain why I often get followed suspiciously around galleries by staff - I like to get close to works.
Upstairs were more pieces - primarily a large print of distorted photographic images, and a video showing part of the process in the creation of the print. A handheld scanner drawn across images on a tv screen.
Earlier I wrote 'In sequence [the images/prints] initially look very similar, then you begin to pick out differences. But I'll come back to this'. So here we are.
One of the interesting aspects of the exhibition for me was this sense of reproduction and the flaws and artefacts inherent in any form of reproduction. This has been a rich source of inspiration for artists, especially since the mid-twentieth century.
For instance recopying a copy, then copying the resultant copy leads to a degradation of the image - in a different medium this is well illustrated by Alvin Lucier's I Am Sitting In A Room.
But here the emphasis is more on the fallibility of the reproductive process. The imperfections, mutations, distortions that emerge in a single copy. Each image is technically a print, but even following the exact same process in the exact same location would produce a unique image.
That for me is why they were so interesting to look at close up and in detail.
I've dabbled in the past, on a smaller scale, with exactly these notions of an easily reproducible process (with or without scope for intervention by the artist) producing superficially similar but ultimately unique works.
That question of intervention by the artist is interesting. There is obviously only limited scope for intentional expressive marks in the processes used by Carlin, but there is - when you isolate a single piece - a natural inclination for your brain to attempt to read it in that light. Which then (for me at any rate) raises the question of how intentional apparently intentional marks in historic works might have been.
But beyond that there's the simple pleasure, the fun, in playing with materials, in experimenting and seeing what might happen. The physical joy in making marks. And that after all is how many of us first came to art.
Ultimately I loved this exhibition, its energy and colour, the physicality of the works. I'd recommend you go and see it, but it's long gone. However, do keep an eye on the Castlefield's exhibitions (and all your local galleries), as well as what Carlin does next.
More quick reviews coming soon.
The works were mainly on paper (or of paper), on a large scale, and texturally compelling. The image featured is from the Castlefield Gallery website linked above.
.jpg)
Although the majority of the works were colourful, the first pieces that you saw, if you turned right and went downstairs to the main gallery space on entering, were monochrome.
A series of pieces, similar to the Corrupted Images above, but in black and white occupied the upper part of one wall. These at a guess were individually around A0 size. so very large sheets of paper. In sequence they initially look very similar, then you begin to pick out differences. But I'll come back to this.
On the wall to the right, symmetrically arranged, a series of the metal binders from lever-arch files, each containing a thick block of paper drooping under its own weight. These in dialogue with the much slighter photocopied magazines composed of pages found on copiers in Salford and Manchester.
The photocopier works which date back a few years have the same interest in reproduction and the artefacts of reproduction as was evident from the other works, but also have a more nostalgic feel. They seem to relate to a world of photocopied flyers and zines that seems to be endangered by the internet, by more affordable home-copying, and by print-on-demand services.
They also speak more to a community of individuals with a common interest - be it music, archaeology, poetry, or anything else. Not just that but a geographically limited community.
For me at least there's an ambivalence in that. The small 'physical' communities of the past were often vital and energetic, but could be cliquey and exclusionary. They could also be oblivious to other communities. Whereas the more atomised 'virtual' communities of the present day may not provide the same sense of belonging, but do enable a faster interchange of ideas, and a greater openness.
That interest in community has often seemed to be a part of Carlin's work. But in general, in this exhibition, the focus was more firmly on the aesthetic. This is neither a bad nor a good thing, it's simply a product of the works shown here.
Into the main space the works leapt into colour. First a video of artist David Medalla walking through Salford at night, casting the square of blue light from a portable projector onto walls, other surfaces, and himself.
This was a fascinating work, the framing of space drawing attention to what might otherwise be overlooked. And at the same time abstracting and anonymising the city.
Then the most photographed work in the exhibition. This was an array of the chromatic images/prints arranged in a grid on the floor, with two films projected. They may have been the same film on a different cycle, I didn't check.
One projector cast its image onto the floor at an angle, creating a peacock fantail of shifting light. The other projecting its image on the opposite wall above the prints. The film (shot by Rosanne Robertson) showed Maurice Carlin creating images/prints for the exhibition, on Manchester's Market Street during daytime to a sometimes bemused casual audience of passers-by.
They were created by squeezing what appeared to be acrylic paint onto one end of the paper, then using the kind of squeegee blade you'd use in screen printing to pull the paint across the paper. Unevennesses in the pavement causing gaps in the paint.
Most of the people I saw only stood and watched the video for a short while, and stayed firmly at the end of the installation behind the projectors. But it was fun to walk up the side of the work and look at the prints that way. Even to get down and look at them from a lower angle, to get some sense of the physicality of the paint, the weight of the objects.
Aesthetically the scale, bulk, and weight of the works struck me as an important part of their nature, and that by viewing them as weightless vehicles for an image misses the point somewhat. But then you could probably say that about any painting.
It may also explain why I often get followed suspiciously around galleries by staff - I like to get close to works.
Upstairs were more pieces - primarily a large print of distorted photographic images, and a video showing part of the process in the creation of the print. A handheld scanner drawn across images on a tv screen.
Earlier I wrote 'In sequence [the images/prints] initially look very similar, then you begin to pick out differences. But I'll come back to this'. So here we are.
One of the interesting aspects of the exhibition for me was this sense of reproduction and the flaws and artefacts inherent in any form of reproduction. This has been a rich source of inspiration for artists, especially since the mid-twentieth century.
For instance recopying a copy, then copying the resultant copy leads to a degradation of the image - in a different medium this is well illustrated by Alvin Lucier's I Am Sitting In A Room.
But here the emphasis is more on the fallibility of the reproductive process. The imperfections, mutations, distortions that emerge in a single copy. Each image is technically a print, but even following the exact same process in the exact same location would produce a unique image.
That for me is why they were so interesting to look at close up and in detail.
I've dabbled in the past, on a smaller scale, with exactly these notions of an easily reproducible process (with or without scope for intervention by the artist) producing superficially similar but ultimately unique works.
That question of intervention by the artist is interesting. There is obviously only limited scope for intentional expressive marks in the processes used by Carlin, but there is - when you isolate a single piece - a natural inclination for your brain to attempt to read it in that light. Which then (for me at any rate) raises the question of how intentional apparently intentional marks in historic works might have been.
But beyond that there's the simple pleasure, the fun, in playing with materials, in experimenting and seeing what might happen. The physical joy in making marks. And that after all is how many of us first came to art.
Ultimately I loved this exhibition, its energy and colour, the physicality of the works. I'd recommend you go and see it, but it's long gone. However, do keep an eye on the Castlefield's exhibitions (and all your local galleries), as well as what Carlin does next.
More quick reviews coming soon.
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